


Take This Longing

by semperama



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Dom/sub, Frottage, Gags, Light Bondage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 21:42:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3952789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semperama/pseuds/semperama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, when they are like this together, he thinks of himself as a lump of clay, moved and molded by Chris’s hands, unable to shape himself on his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take This Longing

**Author's Note:**

> This is my fic for Sub!Zach day! I was worried I wouldn't get it done in time, but here it is, yay! This is my first stab at D/s, so be gentle with me. xD
> 
> MANY MANY THANKS to my dearest Mystic, who helped me polish this up and who gave me amazing suggestions and made me feel much better about it in general. You are the best, bb. <33

The fourth time Chris makes him repeat the last thing he said, Zach practically drags him off the bar stool, hauling him forward by the lapel and leaning in to whisper in his ear. “Let’s get you to bed.”

It was a long day—Chris’s least favorite kind of day, full of press and the same inane questions over and over again and people prodding and primping him in between. When Zach had suggested they unwind with a drink at the hotel bar at the end of it, he had assumed it would help. A good, expensive scotch usually appeals to the sensualist in Chris and puts him in a better mood. Tonight, though, he has been particularly absent, his eyes glazed over, only listening to Zach with one ear—if even that much. He has swirled his drink around and around about a hundred times, but the glass has barely touched his lips. 

He doesn’t even protest when Zach tugs him up and curls an arm around his shoulders—not his waist, like he wants to. 

“I feel like someone stuffed my head with cotton,” he grumbles, his whisky-scented breath hot on the side of Zach’s face. “Sorry I’m not better company.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Zach scratches his thumbnail gently across Chris’s neck and then lets go of Chris so he can hit the button for the elevator. “I should have taken you upstairs a long time ago.”

Chris tilts his head to the side and studies Zach carefully for a moment. His gaze makes the trip from Zach’s face down to his feet and back again. He straightens his shoulders a little and grins, a slow, tired sort of grin that makes him look beautiful and dangerous. Zach suppresses a shiver.

“Mmm,” Chris hums in agreement. He shuffles a step closer, until they are almost toe-to-toe. “You take such good care of me.”

Zach grins and ducks his head, brushing his pinky along the outside of Chris’s hand just as the elevator dings.

Inside the elevator, Chris remains as standoffish as he would have been if they weren’t alone. He clasps one hand over the opposite wrist and rocks back on his heels and stares up at the floor numbers, leaving Zach to stand there and watch his profile. When he does step closer and curls his arm around Chris’s hip, Chris melts into him, but only for a moment. 

“What’s on the schedule for tomorrow?” he murmurs, plucking at Zach’s shirt before pointedly shrugging his arm off. It’s not a gesture of annoyance; it’s one of control. Zach’s stomach swoops.

“Just sight-seeing,” he says. “You can sleep in a little.”

Chris lets out a pleased sound that makes Zach feel like he swallowed fire. Even when he tears his eyes away and looks at the elevator doors instead, he is hyper-aware of Chris—every slight movement in his peripheral vision, the citrus and cedar scent of his cologne. Zach is ever conscious of Chris’s presence under normal circumstances, but when they are alone together like this, it’s like every cell in his body is tuned to him, reaching for him, like flowers seeking sunlight.

The elevator slows and then stops on their floor, and Chris touches two fingers to the back of Zach’s wrist as they step out into the hall together. 

“My room, okay?” It is ostensibly a question, but Chris doesn’t look to him for an answer. And he doesn’t need to. Zach has no plans to argue. Chris already looks less tired, less wary than he has most of the day. It’s like he is shedding one skin and putting on another, the one that Zach feels privileged to see, the one that makes him want to follow Chris to the ends of the earth.

They reach Chris’s door, and Zach’s fingers tap out a restless rhythm on his thighs as he waits for Chris to put the key in the lock. Once inside, he can’t keep back his sigh of relief. He may thrive off of attention much more than Chris does, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t look forward to putting walls and doors between them and the outside world. 

“Want a drink or something?” Chris asks him as he reaches up to start pulling at his tie. Zach’s gaze lands on his fingers and stays there long enough for him to nearly forget the question. When he meets Chris’s eyes again, they are twinkling with mischief.

“Nah, I’m good,” Zach says. He starts to ease his jacket of his shoulders, going slow like he expects Chris to stop him. There is something building in the air between them. Something familiar. Chris is looking at him like he’s a mess of knots, and Zach is more than ready to be untangled. 

Finally, after what seems like ages, Chris pauses in picking apart his tie to point at the floor, in front of the foot of the bed. 

“Right there,” he says. Zach doesn’t need to be told what he means. He sets his jacket down on the table, walks over to the spot where Chris pointed, and then drops to his knees, clasping his hands behind his back. Chris follows him and moves in close enough that Zach’s nose grazes the front of his pants. There is the sound of silk sliding against linen, and then Chris is bending over him, winding his tie around Zach’s wrists. He doesn’t tie off the ends, just shoves them into Zach’s palms and then closes his fingers around them. 

“Don’t move,” Chris says, though Zach doesn’t need to be told. He could open his hands and let the tie slither off his wrists onto the floor, but he won’t. Tied up or not, there’s no way he would move. Sometimes, when they are like this together, he thinks of himself as a lump of clay, moved and molded by Chris’s hands, unable to shape himself on his own. 

Chris takes a step back and nods like he is satisfied, then retreats to the bathroom. Zach can hear his dress shoes click across the tile, hear him piss and then flush. The sound of water running in the sink goes on far longer than it should take for Chris to wash his hands, and Zach imagines him staring at his own face in the mirror, taking extra time just to make Zach wait, make sure he tests his control. Joke is on him. Zach could happily kneel here all fucking night, if that’s what Chris wanted him to do.

When Chris does finally come back into the room, Zach watches as he lays his jacket across the back of one of the chairs and unbuttons his sleeves, rolling them up to his elbows like he’s about to get to work. And maybe that’s an accurate description of what’s about to happen. This version of Chris reminds Zach of the version that shows up in front of the camera, or when he gets on stage. Calm, collected, confident. This Chris is more genuine than the one who squirms and blushes in front of the reporters, trying to figure out what to say to them. This Chris is one who isn’t overthinking or scraping for the right words, the right actions. It’s natural to him. When Zach figured that out, it was like a revelation.

“So, you think it’s your duty to put me to bed on time, huh?” Chris asks. He walks over to Zach and places two fingers under his chin, tilting his head up just a tad.

“No, not my duty,” Zach says. He doesn’t smirk, though he wants to. He could add _my privilege_ , but that would sound too trite, too much like he’s sucking up, even if there is some truth to it.

Chris snorts, his expression equal parts amused and satisfied. He lets go of Zach’s chin and pushes his fingers into his hair instead. At first he just strokes it gently, combing away the product that’s holding it in place. Then, he grabs and twists, until Zach can’t hold back a soft grunt of pain. 

“I _am_ pretty tired,” Chris says. And he looks it. Zach’s eyes are watering, but he can still see a hint of fatigue in Chris’s posture and the dark circles under his eyes. “Maybe I should just let you stay right here. You can watch over me while I sleep like the faithful dog that you are.”

Zach does smirk this time, and Chris tugs his hair harder in retaliation. He sucks in a quick breath through his nose and clenches his jaw.

“You would, wouldn’t you?” Chris says, softer now. “If I told you to. You would do it.”

“You know I would.” Zach doesn’t have to lie about this. 

Chris makes a noncommittal sound, like it would pain him to admit outright that Zach is that obedient. He releases Zach’s hair though, and then strokes the backs of his fingers down the side of his face. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and Zach tracks the motion with his eyes. This is his favorite moment—the anticipation right before Chris’s plans for him become clear. As contradictory as it is, he feels safest when he’s in Chris’s hands. He knows that, unlike almost anyone else in the world, Chris will never ask anything of him that he can’t give. 

“Hmm, not tonight,” Chris says at last. Zach feels neither relieved nor disappointed. He just wants to know what Chris _does_ want. 

So he waits, unmoving, staring unflinchingly up into Chris’s eyes.

“Alright,” Chris sighs. “On the bed. Face down, sweetheart. Don’t move those hands.”

Zach clutches the ends of the tie a little tighter, straining his wrists against the fabric just to remind him that it’s there. He slowly gets to his feet, and Chris doesn’t move back when he does, so for a moment they are chest to chest. The temptation to take that perfect, plump bottom lip into his mouth is strong, but Zach knows by now that patience gets rewarded. He turns around instead and lowers himself onto the bed, careful not to separate his wrists or drop the tie that is keeping them loosely bound together. He feels Chris’s fingers tugging his shoes off, and then his socks. There are a few more rustles of fabric, noises that Zach identifies as buttons and zippers and soft sounds of undressing, but he doesn’t dare lift his head and look. 

He is expecting Chris’s hands to return, for him to crawl over his body and let his weight rest against Zach’s uncomfortably bent arms. Instead, the covers twitch on the other side of the bed. Zach turns his head and sees Chris sliding into bed beside him. He’s naked but only half hard, his cock lolling against his thigh, making Zach’s mouth water.

Chris’s eyes slide shut, and Zach watches as he skims a palm down his stomach and then takes himself in hand. He’s so fucking beautiful—big dick, big hands, the muscles in his freckled forearm shifting as he jacks himself slowly. Even after all this time, he takes Zach’s breath away. He bites down on his bottom lip to keep from making a desperate sound.

After a moment, he clears his throat. “You should let me do that.”

Chris’s eyes open slowly. “Excuse me?”

“You’re tired,” Zach says. “Let me take care of you.

“Zach,” Chris sighs. There is more exasperation than amusement in his voice now, and that gets under Zach’s skin more than he cares to admit. He squirms a little, tightens his grip around the silk clutched in his sweaty palms. Chris’s eyes drift down his body. “Turn onto your side. Face the wall.”

“But—”

“Do it.”

Zach does as he’s told. He can’t even pretend he doesn’t like this feeling—the way irritation and arousal war inside him. He stares at the textured, off-white wall in front of him and breathes slowly through his nose and listens to the faint slide of skin on skin coming from the other side of the bed. Maybe Chris will jack off and go to sleep without letting Zach turn around. Maybe he’ll take pity on him and let him come tonight too. It really makes no difference. 

“What should I do with you, huh?” Chris asks, his voice low and jagged. “You might not want to answer that, by the way. Your mouth just gets you in trouble.”

The mattress shifts, and all of a sudden Zach can feel Chris’s breath on the back of his neck. He shivers.

“You can do whatever you want with me,” he says, ignoring Chris’s advice to keep quiet. “That’s how this works.”

“Oh, is that how this works, smart ass?” Chris’s lips brush across the back of his neck in a parody of gentleness that Zach knows not to trust. Then, Chris’s fingers encircle Zach’s wrists, slide down to cover his fists and pry them open. Zach resists for a moment, futilely, not sure if it’s a test, but Chris digs in with blunt fingernails until he is forced to drop the tie, let Chris unwind it from around his wrists.

“Keep your hands where they are,” Chris murmurs in his ear. “And open your mouth.”

The moment his lips part, Chris crams the tie in, not at all gently. Zach makes an indignant sound and starts to squirm backward, but he is stopped by Chris’s unmovable chest. Chris ties the tie behind his head, and then all Zach can do is tongue the strip of fabric, bite at it, as if that is going to make any difference. Saliva already is starting to leak out of the corners of his mouth. Chris reaches around and runs his fingers through it, then grips Zach’s chin and tugs at him until he cranes his neck enough for Chris to kiss the place where the tie digs into his cheek.

“Now,” Chris says. “You want to take care of me?”

Zach nods, grunts his assent.

“Then just lay there. That’s all you need to do.”

He couldn’t protest if he wanted to, so Zach lets his head fall back to the bed and waits. Chris tugs his shirt out of the waistband of his pants and pushes it halfway up his back. Then, he reaches around and flicks open the button of Zach’s fly and then jerks his pants down in the back—not all the way, just enough to give Chris something to rut against. And rut he does. He curls his arm around Zach’s middle and pulls him backward so he can push his cock against the crack of Zach’s ass, then across his open palms. 

“Don’t move those hands,” Chris reminds him, hissing in his ear. As if Zach could if he wanted to. His wrists are pinned to his body, held there by Chris’s closeness and the inescapable rolling of his hips. The forearm Chris has pinned across his stomach feels like iron. Zach isn’t tied, but he is definitely tethered, hemmed in by Chris’s body and the fuzziness in his own head. 

The spackling on the wall in front of him goes out of focus, so he closes his eyes and concentrates on what he is feeling instead. Chris’s stubble rasps against the back of his neck, and his breath feels almost unbearably hot. Sweat is starting to pool between his shoulder blades, and he can feel his shirt sticking to it. Chris’s thighs are tucked snug against his, his knees pushing against the back of Zach’s every time he rocks his hips forward.

There is something animalistic about the way Chris grinds against him, humping him like a dog. His dick slides against Zach’s wrists, through his hands, against his lower back. Zach feels used, like he may as well be an inanimate object that Chris is rubbing off on. At first, the temptation is strong to push back against each one of Chris’s thrusts, to help him out, but as the moments tick by, Zach feels more and more like he couldn’t move if he wanted to. He is becoming the object Chris wants him to be—silent, unmoving, unthinking. 

“Shit,” Chris mutters. He pushes his face into Zach’s shoulder. “Shit, shit.”

Zach feels drool pooling between his cheek and the bed, but he can’t bring himself to swallow. He is half convinced he doesn’t even need to breathe anymore. 

There is enough sweat on his lower back now that Chris’s cock glides easily against his skin. Each roll of his hips seems languorous and calculated, but Zach can tell by the harsh sound of his breathing that he is not that far away from coming undone. Chris manages to work his free hand between their bodies and push Zach’s shirt up even more, and then he presses in even closer, so they are touching almost everywhere, back to chest, thigh to thigh, calf to shin. 

Chris’s dick is trapped right in the cradle of Zach’s palms now. His fingers twitch.

“Do it, Zach,” Chris breathes. “No, wait.”

There is a wet sound of Chris spitting, and then he backs off for a second. When his fits their bodies together again and pushes himself back into Zach’s hands, his cock is slick with saliva. Zach closes his fingers around him as much as he can, and he is rewarded with a low groan that vibrates through him like a shockwave.

If Chris was controlling himself before, he isn’t now. He pushes himself erratically through Zach’s loose grip and spits a string of curses into the crook of his neck. All the points where Chris is touching him feel as hot as brands, and Zach imagines being left with shiny burns once they peel themselves apart. He grits his teeth, tongue straining against the wet, probably ruined strip of fabric in his mouth. The tie chafes his face. So many sensations, but they all boil down to one thing: Chris, Chris, Chris. 

“Fuck,” Chris says. He lifts his head and pushes his nose into Zach’s hair. It’s a surprisingly tender gesture, and Zach lets out a little, involuntary whine. Chris thrusts faster. “Fuck, fuck. Gonna shoot.”

And he does. Warm splashes of come hit the bare skin of Zach’s back, and he whines again, trying to close his fingers tighter around Chris’s cock to help him through the aftershocks. Once Chris stills completely, he has coated Zach’s wrists and fingers and lower back, but he doesn’t seem to care. He clutches Zach close and pants into his hair, while Zach floats in a satisfied haze.

The next few minutes are a little cloudy. Zach is only vaguely aware of the disappearance of the warmth at his back or the sound of running water in the bathroom. He groans in protest when Chris comes back and urges him onto his stomach so he can clean the come off his skin. The warm, wet cloth feels good on his skin though, and Chris takes his time with it, rubbing feeling back into Zach’s ever-so-slightly sore wrists. Once he is done, he sets Zach’s clothing back in order, pulling his pants up and his shirt down, then unties the tie and gently tugs it out of Zach’s mouth. 

An insistent tugging at his shoulder brings Zach back to himself enough to roll onto his back. And then Chris’s beautiful face is right there, smiling at him. He wants to smile back, but the muscles in his face don’t seem to want to listen to his brain quite yet, so he just gazes dopily up at him.

“Hey, gorgeous," Chris says, his voice rough but affectionate. "You still with me?"

“Mmhmm,” Zach hums. Chris chuckles and sits down next to him on the bed so he can lean over and wipe his face with a clean washcloth, cleaning off the drool and soothing the slightly irritated skin around his mouth. Zach closes his eyes again as Chris’s fingers caress his face. Even though he knows Chris is likely just searching for any chafing that might need further care from him, the touch feels tender and grounding, reminding him how much Chris cares for him, reminding him how right and natural it is to trust him as much as he does. Eventually, Chris’s hand falls away, and Zach feels Chris’s lips on his forehead, his cheeks. He hooks his hand around Chris’s neck and pulls him down for a lingering kiss.

“Let’s get you out of these clothes,” Chris says when he pulls away. Zach starts to reach for the buttons on his shirt, but Chris bats him out of the way and starts undoing the buttons on his own. He pauses to stroke his fingers through the patch of hair on Zach’s chest before pushing the shirt off his shoulders and helping him sit up long enough to take it off. Then, he makes short work of Zach’s pants and underwear and helps Zach under the covers, tucking the comforter snug around him.

Zach watches as Chris folds his clothes and sets them on one of the chairs, then takes the dirty washcloths back into the bathroom. Once he returns and crawls back in bed, Zach rouses himself enough to turn over and curl up against his chest. Chris searches under the sheets for his hands, lifts his wrists to his mouth and kisses them one at a time.

“Should we take care of you?” He skims his fingers down Zach’s stomach and then palms his erection. Zach hadn’t even noticed he was still hard, and even with Chris’s hand molding to him, he doesn’t feel any sense of urgency to get off. He just cuddles closer and shakes his head.

“No, I’m okay,” he says

Chris makes a contented sound and lifts his hand to comb his fingers through Zach’s hair. “You’re so good for me.”

Not good _to_ him. Good _for_ him. Happiness unfurls itself in Zach’s chest, warming him from the inside. 

“Get some sleep, Pine,” he says quietly, tightening his grip on him. 

He feels Chris’s laugh all the way down to his toes. He doesn’t even have to look up at his face to picture the smile lines at the corners of his eyes or the joyful flash of teeth. Chris’s happy face is forever burned into his brain.

“Yes, dear,” Chris says cheekily.

Zach counts Chris’s breaths until they slow and even out. Only then does he close his own eyes.


End file.
